


The Test

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Series: Light Shining in the Dark [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew has to confront his demons, Angst, M/M, Nothing detailed but it's discussed, Past Rape/Sexual Assault, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Andrew decides to get STD tested, and it triggers an unexpected emotional response.





	The Test

**Author's Note:**

> So because I'm a medical-type, it occurred to me that given Andrew's history he might want to get HIV tested, so this happened. It was not supposed to be as angsty as it got, but hey, it's me.
> 
> Trigger warnings same as the books; if you're concerned, I'll be happy to give you more information; hit me up on Tumblr, @fuzzballsheltiepants.

Andrew bolted awake, gasping, biting back the name on his lips.  He was no stranger to vivid dreams, but this… This was new.  Even in his fantasies he had never allowed himself to cross this line, but evidently his subconscious was more than willing.  At least when it came to a certain idiot, who would no doubt be too stupid to say no.  
  
His sudden movement awoke the idiot in question, crystal eyes immediately sharp with concern.  Andrew shook his head and slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, aching hard.  He turned on the shower and didn’t wait for the water to finish heating before getting under the spray.  The dream replayed in his brain as he jacked off, the image of Neil arching underneath him adding unnecessary intensity to the process.  It was like they hadn’t done this together just eight hours before.    
  
This was a problem.  He toweled off, thinking wryly that it involved Neil; of course it was a problem.  Though he probably should’ve seen this coming, giving the way the junkie had worked his way under Andrew’s skin.  He still didn’t quite know how it had happened, how his vigilance had failed him, but Neil showed no inclination to take advantage of it.  Which meant he could not let himself take advantage of Neil.  
  
The house was empty aside from them, Nicky having left the day before for Germany for Christmas break, Aaron to the cheerleader’s, and Kevin stuck uncomfortably with Wymack.  Part of Andrew wanted to be present for that world’s most awkward holiday, but mostly he was happy to be able to spend two weeks in relative peace and quiet.    
  
Neil was downstairs hovering over the coffee maker, two mugs and the creme brulee creamer sitting out on the counter.  His face was tight as he glanced at Andrew but he didn’t ask, just poured the coffee and added a generous dollop of creamer to Andrew’s.  He handed the mug off careful not to brush fingers; Andrew appreciated the effort, unnecessary though it was.    
  
“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, gritting his teeth when Neil’s whole face lit up in response.  
  
“Yes.”    
  
Setting his mug down, he hooked his fingers in Neil’s overlarge hoodie and tugged him down for a kiss.  It was funny, how much they had both softened over the past year.  Funny, and probably dangerous.  He shouldn’t have let his guard down, but it was too late.  Had been too late since the moment he spotted a battered orange duffel lying abandoned in a parking lot in Binghamton.  He knew this, even if Neil did not.  
  
All morning, the dream followed him.  While they ate their breakfast, while Neil went for his run, while they sat on the couch, his feet tucked up against Neil’s thigh as he read his book and Neil surfed online.  Bee had broached this subject with him a handful of times over the months, and he had always been adamant that it wasn’t going to happen, not yet, probably not ever.  It still wasn’t time, but… but maybe that time was closer than he had thought.  
  
The third time they had talked about it, maybe two months ago, Bee had asked him what he knew about being safe.  He smiled inwardly, picturing her expression when he had said dryly, “I did have health class in high school, however abbreviated that experience was.”  She left it alone after that, but what primitive remains of a conscience he possessed had not.  Not that he cared much about what happened to him, but Neil shouldn’t be put at unnecessary risk.  
  
When Neil headed into the kitchen, Andrew stole his laptop and did a quick search.  By the time Neil returned with another cup of coffee, Andrew was slipping on his shoes.  Neil looked at him, the obvious question on his face.  “I’m going to run an errand.”    
  
“Want some company?”  
  
Andrew’s fingers played briefly with his keys before he forced them to still.  He shrugged; he hadn’t counted on having Neil along but couldn’t think of a good reason to deny him. Neil set his coffee down, toed into his own shoes, and grabbed both their coats.  
  
They were silent on the short drive, Neil gazing out the window at the various Christmas displays with childlike wonder.  Not for the first time Andrew wondered how it was possible Neil’s childhood was more fucked up than his own, but even he had seen giant inflatable Santas before.  He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car, and Neil’s attention snapped to the blue and white sign.  
  
Andrew didn’t move, watching the thoughts ripple over Neil’s face.  When understanding settled, Neil glanced at him.  “Planned Parenthood?”  
  
“I didn’t want to go to the health center on campus.”  
  
Neil nodded, nibbling on his lower lip.  “Are you okay?”  
  
“I just want to make sure.”  
  
“Should I get tested too?”  
  
Andrew snorted; seriously, sometimes he wondered how someone so smart could be so dumb.  “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me, you shouldn’t need to.”  
  
Neil flushed, his scars standing out more sharply.  “No, it’s not… I know, it just doesn’t seem like something you should do alone.”  
  
“I’m not alone, junkie.  You don’t need to piss into a cup to prove anything.”  
  
The no-nonsense receptionist had him sign in then handed him a form to fill out.  The waiting room was nearly empty, a couple of women sitting next to each other in the corner and one man who kept pacing.  It was only a few minutes before a nurse in scrubs led him into a room, raising her eyebrows when Neil followed.  
  
“This is a private consultation,” she said, blocking Neil out of the room.  
  
“It’s fine,” Andrew said, and she glanced at him to confirm.  “It’s fine.”  
  
She accepted that.  Neil tucked himself into the lone chair while Andrew sat on the edge of the examination table.  The nurse went into her well-rehearsed and overly cheerful spiel.  “So you’re here to get tested.  Always a good idea!  I’m going to ask you a few questions of a personal nature that I need you to answer honestly so I know what to test for.  If you decide you want your privacy again, just let me know.”  She glanced at Neil, whose face had set in that stubborn way that meant if she tried to make him leave there would be a problem.  Andrew nodded understanding.  
  
The first set of questions were easy, all about physical symptoms, none of which he had.    
  
“Okay, then, Andrew, that’s good,” she said, flipping the page.  “Now, how many sexual partners have you had?  And by partners, I mean people with whom you’ve had oral, vaginal, or anal intercourse.”  
  
He made sure his impassive mask was intact when he answered, “Eleven.”  Her expression didn’t so much as twitch as she jotted that down; he resisted the impulse to glance at Neil.  It wasn’t like the man shouldn’t have this information.  
  
“And how often do you use protection?”  
  
“I haven’t used protection.”  
  
Her eyes flicked up to his and her mouth tightened.  He silently dared her to comment.  She didn’t.  Wise.  
  
“Have you ever been tested for STDs before?”  
  
“Yes.”  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Neil shift in his chair.  
  
“Have you or any of your partners ever had an STD?”  
  
“Not that I know of.”  
  
She finished running down her checklist then set her notebook down.  “With your history, I want to collect cheek swabs and urine.  We’ll have your HIV test back in twenty minutes, and the other results in a few days, okay?”    
  
He nodded and followed the directions for the cheek swab, then went into the bathroom to pee into the stupid plastic cup.  She took it from him and disappeared with assurance she would be back in twenty minutes and he sat back down on the table, this time facing Neil.  
  
Neil met Andrew’s eyes openly.  “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said after a moment.  “They must have tested you, after.”  
  
Andrew could feel a betraying muscle flicker in his jaw.  The fact that that was the detail that stuck with Neil made no sense.  Suddenly he needed Neil to know.  It wasn’t that he cared, he just needed him to know.  “Most of them were by my choice.”     
  
Neil nodded, expression unreadable for once.  “That’s good,” he said, then cleared his throat.  Andrew raised an eyebrow at him.  “I mean, I knew about Roland obviously, but I didn’t know, uh… That’s good,” he finished lamely.  
  
“It’s good that I’ve blown, what, six other guys?”  
  
“Why would I care?”  Andrew didn’t have an answer for that.  “I don’t give a shit about the number, Drew,” Neil said.  “I think I’m just glad you’ve had more people you’ve chosen to be with than not.”  
  
That surreal feeling that he had so often when dealing with Neil reappeared.  He shook his head and turned his attention to the row of pamphlets hanging on the wall in front of him.  They were just a blur of color, pink and purple and blue, the letters refusing to sharpen.  Faces flipped before him, shuffling like a deck of cards:  the four men who had ruined him, the six who had inadvertently taught him what he needed.  The one who was trying to rebuild him.  
  
“Are you embarrassed?” Neil asked softly.  
  
Andrew wondered what his face was betraying.  “No.”  At least he didn’t think he was.  He didn’t really have a name for this.  It was outside his experience; the closest he could come to it was the sick swooping sensation he got when he looked off the edge of the roof of Fox Tower.    
  
Andrew could feel Neil’s sharp eyes straying over the room, over him.  His skin was prickling between his shoulder blades, like unwanted fingers pushing him to move, and he fought it by becoming absolutely still.    
  
The nurse re-entered, a smile on her face and a plastic bag in her hands.  He knew his result before she said, “Great news!  You’re negative for HIV.  We’ll call with the other results next week.  The cell we have on file?”  
  
“Yes.”    
  
She handed him the bag.  He reflexively peeked inside; it was full of condoms and sample packets of lube.  “Use them,” she said seriously.  “Even though you’re negative now, unless you’re trying for a baby, use one every time.”  
  
He hopped off the table with a glance at Neil, who rose and followed him.  Once they were in the car, Neil allowed himself a grin.  “Are we going to try for a baby now?”  
  
“Shut up,” Andrew said, and Neil laughed, like this was a joke.  Like Andrew hadn’t just gotten tested for fucking HIV, so that he could justify to his shitty excuse of a conscience his desire to wreck Neil, to wreck them both.  Andrew twisted the key in the ignition, a wild fury flaring through him as the engine caught.  “Shut. Up.”  Neil went quiet, and Andrew turned to him, his vision blurring slightly at the edges.  “How did you survive on the run for so long with no fucking sense of self-preservation?”  
  
There was no fear in Neil’s face, just that cool assessment that was the answer to Andrew’s question.  He never knew which one was the real Neil, the wildfire that had swept through the Foxes, burning down all their barriers and cracking Andrew’s stone walls, or this clear-sighted hawk of a man.  Both were equally dangerous.  
  
“Why do you think I should be afraid?”    
  
Andrew’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel.  “Do you know why we’re here?”  He was relieved to hear how normal he sounded.  
  
“I was assuming you wanted to make sure it was safe for us to go further.”  His voice held that faint trace of an indecipherable accent that crept in whenever he was particularly serious about something.  Andrew had never met someone who had so many different distinct accents that he could flip through like stations on a radio.  He usually used one that was broadly middle-American but this was his true one, a swirl of all the places he had ever lived.  
  
For some reason that little tell of his concentration was the last blow that knocked the lid off the yawning pit of rage that always simmered in Andrew’s gut.  He shifted the car into drive and pealed out of the parking lot. Neil didn’t say anything further, settling into the passenger seat with not a whisper of the anxiety Andrew’s driving used to elicit. He trailed Andrew into the house, posture relaxed though the shrewd look remained in his eyes.  
  
Once they were in the house Neil blocked the stairs, eliminating Andrew’s planned escape route. When Andrew veered into the kitchen instead, Neil followed and hopped up onto the counter next to the coffeemaker. Clearly the idiot was not going to let this conversation die at the clinic like he should have. Andrew turned to him, bracing his hands on either side of Neil’s thighs and glaring up at him. “You’re so fucking naïve,” he spat.  
  
Neil blinked at him but didn’t reply and Andrew’s anger surged like bile, burning his throat. “You just say yes, all the time, it’s always yes. Do you even fucking know what you’re saying yes to?”  
  
“Yes,” Neil said, his mouth twisting briefly at the irony. “I trust you.”  
  
“Only because you don’t fucking get it.” Andrew slammed the heel of his hand against the edge of the counter, relishing the jolt of pain. “You don’t understand that you’re handing me a loaded gun and pointing it at your own head.”  
  
“How so?” Neil asked, and he sounded so much like Bee, so measured, so caring, so much like he already fucking knew, that Andrew just wanted to make him hurt. Twisting his fingers in the neck of Neil’s stupid orange hoodie with the stupid paw prints on it, he yanked him down off the counter and drove him back until Neil’s back was against the wall, Andrew’s forearm against his throat with enough pressure to begin to restrict breathing. Neil didn’t fight him; he just held his eyes and waited.  
  
Andrew needed him to flinch, needed him to feel it, to understand. Hauling off with his free hand, Andrew drove it into the wall a scant inch from Neil’s head, feeling the skin on his knuckles split as the drywall sank under the blow. But still Neil didn’t move, still that poison – that trust – shone in those damn eyes. Andrew released him and took a step back. “Get out.”  
  
“No.”

“Oh, you do actually know how to say that word.”  
  
Neil didn’t answer. He just waited with that damnable patience that only seemed to surface with Andrew. Andrew lashed out at the wall again, and this time Neil caught his fist easily but made no move to retaliate, releasing him as soon as he had stopped the blow.  
  
“Right,” Andrew snarled.  “Can’t have me injuring my hand, eh, Vice Captain?  Not when we’re three weeks away from the first game of championships, might hurt our precious chances.”  
  
Neil shrugged.  “Broken bones are a bitch,” he said.  “I wouldn’t want you to break your hand even if you weren’t the best player on the team.”  
  
“I hate you,” Andrew said, and he could hear that for once he sounded like he meant it.  
  
“Why are you so pissed that I’m willing to sleep with you?” Neil countered.  
  
Willing to.  Not want to.    
  
Andrew’s hands clenched in Neil’s hoodie again, his bloody knuckles leaving satisfying little smears against the orange as they pressed against his chest.  Words bubbled up but refused to leave his mouth.  
  
_Willing to_.  Not _want to_.  
  
“I know your mother told you,” Andrew finally got out.  “She may have fucked you up in a thousand ways, but she was right about this.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Sex is a weapon, Neil, nothing more.”  He rarely called him by his name anymore and Neil’s mouth tightened in response.  “There are a thousand different ways it can ruin a person, and you’re willing to hand that over without a second thought.”  
  
“That’s not sex, Drew,” Neil said hesitantly.  “What those men did, that wasn’t sex.”  
  
Andrew grabbed his throat just below his jaw, almost hard enough to bruise, his brain buzzing so loud he could barely hear himself over it.  “Don’t…” His voice came out ravaged and he fought to stabilize it.  “Damnit, you saw it, you —”  
  
“That was assault,” Neil choked out.  Andrew loosened his grip and Neil sucked in a breath.  “It wasn’t sex; it was rape.  The mechanics may be the same, but it’s not the same thing.”  
  
Abruptly letting go, Andrew wheeled away, coming to rest next to the sink.  Neil didn’t follow, allowing him his space.  “Calling that sex… That’s like saying my father beating me unconscious and the way you touch me are the same because they both involve hands.”  
  
Andrew could feel his hands shaking where they pressed against the counter behind his back.  “Words have power, Drew,” Neil reminded him quietly, not that Andrew had ever forgotten.  Neil would know; he wielded words like weapons sharper than the blades in Andrew’s armbands, and Andrew had watched him take people apart with them time and time again.  
  
As soon as he was sure he had stopped trembling he pushed past Neil and went outside, tapping a cigarette free.  It was cold enough that his breath looked like a whiter, cleaner version of the smoke.  Neil leaned against the door and watched him, shivering slightly.  Andrew blew smoke in his face.  “You should go inside.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  The corner of Neil’s mouth twitched faintly at the look Andrew gave him.  
  
The nicotine took the edge off, or maybe it was more the familiar ritual of it all.  He had never been sure which was more important.  Bee’s need for precision had always made perfect sense to him, even as he perversely enjoyed fucking it up, finding a new thing to disturb every week.    
  
Andrew flicked the butt onto the ground and lit a second, watching the neighbors haul a scraggly tree into their house.  Between inhalations he could almost feel Neil’s skin under his fingers, the puckers and ridges and unnatural smoothness of the various scars contrasting with the silkier feel of the unmarred skin.  The hitches of breath, the muffled moan of his name, played in his ears like the soundtrack of a well-known movie.  
  
He had beaten people unconscious before, for hurting his own; he well knew the satisfaction of the give of flesh under his knuckles, the forced grunts from a body blow, the thud when they hit the ground.  It was inevitably better than a blade, though less expedient.    
  
Softness and hardness, tenderness and violence.  His hands were capable of both, he was capable of both.  He could just about feel Bee beaming with pride from here.  
  
By the time the third cigarette had been smoked to the filter, the lid was firmly back on.  He turned back to the door, where Neil was looking down the street at a family stringing Christmas lights, the last on the block to do so aside from them.  “Do you want to decorate?” Andrew asked, startling them both.  
  
“No,” Neil said sheepishly.  “It seems like a shitload of work for a pretty minimal payoff.”  
  
“I always kind of liked the lights,” Andrew admitted.  “The tree and ornament thing, I don’t get.  But the lights…”  He shrugged, remembering nights in foster homes when he used look out the window at lights up and down the streets, or creep downstairs while everyone else slept to lay on his back and stare at the thousand points of light scattered among the tree branches.  He’d never known exactly what the draw was but somehow it had always pained him to look away.  
  
They ended up on the couch as they had been that morning, just a spare inch of space between his feet and Neil’s.  The prickling feeling under his skin faded like the daylight, and by the time the early night fell he felt settled again.  Neil was concentrating on his laptop, lips moving silently and shoulders and feet twitching periodically.  Neil watching game film was a whole-body experience, he couldn’t stop himself from getting involved even through the screen.  
  
Andrew set his book down on the coffee table and Neil looked up at him, expression open and trusting despite the faint red marks on his throat.  Yet more irony, of course; hurting Neil to try to protect him from the distant, unknowable threat that was Andrew himself.  He shoved that useless thought aside.  “Yes or no, junkie?”  
  
Neil closed his laptop and put it aside.  “Yes, always yes.”  
  
_Willing_.  Not _wanting_.  Andrew would have to ask him about that at some point, but perhaps after today’s debacle he should talk to Bee first.  He needed to make sure that he didn’t ask for too much, that he didn’t start to take.  That he didn’t become like them.  But he had time.  They had time.    
  
Andrew straddled Neil’s legs, settling more on his own heels than on Neil.  He cupped Neil’s cheek in his hand, thumb tracing the overlapping shiny circles on his cheek, then bent to brush his lips lightly over them before bending lower and doing the same to the red lines on Neil’s neck.  The noise Neil made in response was borderline obscene, and Andrew had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from mimicking him when Neil returned the favor.  
  
He pulled away to look at Neil, who was looking back at him through his ridiculous lashes.  He didn’t know what he was searching for, but his breath caught in his throat when he found it anyway.  It reminded him of lying on his back in a dark and silent house, gazing up at a thousand tiny stars in glass houses.  So much beauty and light, in that moment his alone.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated. This fic is kind of different from anything I've seen, and I hesitated to post it but decided to with the support of a few of you wonderful people. Please let me know what you think!


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